


Mr. Eames

by silver_etoile



Series: Mr. Eames [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 22:20:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11000184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_etoile/pseuds/silver_etoile
Summary: Arthur is too focused on the surrealness of the situation to pay attention to what Dom says next. Eames is real, realer than a blow job in a bathroom or videos on a computer screen, and he’s standing right in front of him discussing semantics, completely ignoring, or perhaps forgetting, that they know each other.Eames posts porn on Tumblr. Arthur lurks.





	Mr. Eames

The only reason Arthur has a tumblr is because Ariadne _insisted_ he get one. It isn’t like he needs any more distractions from his school work when he’s already got the entire gamut of social media accounts.

“One more won’t kill you,” Ariadne says as she sets up a custom layout for Arthur’s page (he didn’t ask her to). Arthur lets her because she can be stubborn when she wants to, and really, what does he care? Just another thing to distract him from his Life Cycle of Plants readings he’s supposed to be doing (why are all gen-eds so ridiculous, he wonders).

Overall, getting a tumblr doesn’t change much. Arthur only follows, like, twenty people. Mostly it’s just Ariadne reblogging pictures of buildings and leaving paragraph-long comments in the tag section about the architecture. He’s had the account a few months, just long enough to span the quick introduction to college. In between underage drinking in Ariadne’s dorm with her roommate from Spain, who constantly complains about America’s drinking age laws, and sleeping through a few of his early morning math classes, Arthur thinks he’s starting to get the hang of things.

For his part, Arthur doesn’t do much on tumblr. It’s just a place he logs onto at night, scrolling through text posts, memes, and the occasional fandom thing that slips by. Arthur isn’t really into fandom and whatever it entails. He reblogs Ariadne’s things just to make her happy. He honestly doesn’t see the point of tumblr, but he doesn’t tell Ariadne that.

Arthur slumps into his dorm on Wednesday night, after a dinner with Ariadne where he spent the whole time thinking about the math quiz he had that morning and if he maybe should have studied a bit more. His books are piled on the little shelf under the window, the clacking white blinds closed against the darkness, but he doesn’t pull one out to study.

Instead, he collapses into the uncomfortable desk chair and shoves a hand through his hair, mussing it in a way he usually hates, but he’s too tired to care today. He unbuttons his shirt one button then two. Ariadne constantly teases him about his vests, how he looks like he’s thirty instead of eighteen.

Annoyed at the thought, Arthur pulls off the vest, leaving him in his now-rumpled button-down. He just feels more in control when he’s got on a slim-fitting vest, like it hugs him. He can’t really describe it. He hasn’t tried to describe it to her.

His roommate isn’t there, off to his Wednesday night class, and Arthur knows Yusef will be back much later than his class ends, reeking of weed and making far too much noise before he goes to bed.

Opening his laptop, Arthur pulls up tumblr, mostly out of habit by now, scrolling through a few posts before clicking on the address bar.

He has it memorized, which should be something of an embarrassment, but Arthur doesn’t let himself be. Instead, he types in the address quickly: callmemreames.tumblr.com.

 _Call me Mr. Eames_ is the first thing that pops up on the screen in an elegant script that is completely negated by the first post beneath it.

The image wouldn’t be out of place on a website with XXX at the end of the address, and Arthur’s eyes travel down the bare chest of a faceless guy, scrolling as a cock comes into view, hard and heavy in his hand.

A month ago, Arthur’s chest would have beat faster at this image, so brazen on his screen, pulled up for anyone to see, but now, Arthur keeps scrolling. He’s learned that tumblr isn’t just filled with fandom, hipster blogs, memes, and Ariadne’s running commentary on feminism. He doesn’t know how exactly he found it, this blog filled with naked guys, gifs, videos, pictures. He just clicked one day and found himself scrolling, back and back and back.

He’d told himself he wouldn’t come back, that he wouldn’t follow this blog, and well, one out of two isn’t bad. He doesn’t follow Mr. Eames because he can only imagine what might happen if Ariadne got his phone and pulled up tumblr only to be greeted with a video of a guy deepthroating another guy.

Probably she wouldn’t care, but Arthur would have to endure all the questions that he avoids with her, the ones about what kind of guys he likes, what kinks he has, if she did or did not turn him gay (she didn’t, he’s told her a thousand times since they broke up in high school but she still likes to debate it, especially when drunk).

It’s been over a month since he found Eames, since he watched video after video of things he’s never really bothered to look for online. He’s never bothered because at home, his mom put up parental blocks on everything since he was six years old, and though Arthur is smart enough to get around them, there is always a chance she’d know. She always knew everything. Perk of being a single parent, Arthur figures. She felt like she had to.

Besides, Arthur wouldn’t have felt comfortable going to an actual website, having to put in a credit card, something traceable. He knows it’s normal, watching porn, jerking off to hot anonymous guys, but he still doesn’t like the idea that people would know.

On tumblr, it’s different. The address says tumblr.com where blogs can be anything. It doesn’t say triplexxxporn in the title, on the history search. It feels safer, somehow.

Arthur scrolls past the first few posts with only a cursory glance at the guys there. Most of the posts are reblogs from other tumblrs, tumblrs Arthur doesn’t visit. None of them are tagged, not like the things Ariadne reblogs where she posts every single thought she has in the tags. This blog only tags one thing, and Arthur’s eyes fall on it before he looks at the video that goes along with it.

_mr eames_

Arthur hasn’t even clicked play, but his pulse speeds up, catching in his throat as he clicks the video.

Immediately, Arthur is greeted with the sight of Eames--he knows it’s Eames because these are the only videos Eames doesn’t reblog from someone else. The camera is positioned low, on the end of a bed by the looks of things, and another guy lays facedown on the mattress, head turned to the side, away from the camera, but Eames is in full view behind him, pressed inside the guy’s ass.

Arthur can’t see Eames cock, but he doesn’t need it when he’s already half-hard watching Eames push into this anonymous guy. Eames makes sure the guy doesn’t get in the way of the camera, nudging him to the side when he tries to move.

 _Fuck_ , Arthur thinks, eyes wandering over Eames’ chest, tattoos covering his arms, down his chest, shapes he can’t quite make out in the gritty quality of the camera.

He only gives the door a cursory glance, as though Yusef might actually come home on time, but he won’t. Arthur knows it.

Reaching down, his fingers flick open his zipper and slide under his jeans. Somehow, Arthur still feels embarrassed, jerking off to a video of a stranger, even though no one will ever know. His cock swells under his palm as he watches Eames on camera, gaze lingering on his mouth, obscenely plush lips, how his tongue darts out to wet them as he lazily fucks the guy on his bed.

Arthur doesn’t dare close his eyes as he jerks himself off, hand circling his prick as he bites his lip and holds back a groan. He can’t go slowly, not like Eames is doing on the video. He moves quickly, hand sliding up and down, slick with precome, not enough friction. His legs spread wide and he slumps down in the desk chair, sucking in a breath as he twists his wrist, heat rising on his skin as he watches the screen.

He’s watched all of Eames’ videos, gone through the whole tag, all five pages of just Eames. He’s seen him jerk off, his cock the only thing in frame, seen other nameless guys sucking him off. He’s heard the noises Eames makes, though he usually has to put in his headphones and turn the volume all the way up. Eames is surprisingly quiet on video. He seems to focus on the camera mostly, not on the guys he fucks. Arthur wonders if he gets off on filming rather than the guys.

On screen, Eames shoves the guy’s head down, out of frame, as he fucks him from behind, his hips pushing in a slow rhythm. Arthur imagines the squeak of mattress springs, pictures Eames behind him, a tight grip on his neck, holding him down.

With a sharp gasp, Arthur comes, his cock jerking in his hand. For a second, he closes his eyes as the feeling washes over him, along with the feeling of shame that he just jerked off to some guy he doesn’t even know.

People do it all the time, he knows, but still.

When he opens his eyes, breathing returning to normal, the video has started over. He watches for a second, not bothering to clean himself up. It’s a little pathetic, he admits, lusting over a stranger on the internet. He should be out, at a club, hooking up with a real person. Or at least doing his readings for class.

Arthur has never really been into hook-ups; of course, there was no one to hook up with in high school. But he’s been in college a couple months, and he’s only made out with one guy. Ariadne had dragged him to some party with cliched red cups and beer pong. He doesn’t remember much about the guy except that he’d been a sloppy kisser.

_what are you doing?_

His phone pings with a text as he watches the video again. He reaches for it, grimacing at Ariadne’s message on the screen. Hastily, he grabs a tissue and cleans up the fast-drying come on his hands and zips his jeans. There’s an unseemly wet spot on the front now.

 _studying_ , he writes back because he’s not going to say he was jerking off. He clicks out of Eames’ tumblr page and closes his laptop.

 _perfect!_ is Ariadne’s reply, which makes Arthur frown. She’s never been excited for studying in all the time he’s known her. _I need help studying for PHIL midterm_

Midterms, right. Arthur feels relieved, though he doesn’t know why.

 _Coffeehouse tomorrow?_ Arthur sends because he knows she won’t let him say no. He might as well give in now.

Ariadne sends a thumbs-up emoji in response and Arthur sets the phone down. He really should be studying or doing something other than fantasizing about Eames, as though he’s real. Obviously, he’s real, but he’s not real to Arthur. He’s just a face, a beautiful, perfect face, on the internet, with a cock Arthur finds himself daydreaming about during slow classes.

Shaking himself, he resolves to take a shower and then get back to homework, and the real world.

*

Arthur checks the time on his phone again, for the third time. He should have known better than to expect Ariadne to be on time. His coffee is halfway gone and he’s scrolling through tumblr as he sits in the coffee house, the one on campus that is always filled with students. His table by the window has a view of the campus bookstore, the windows filled with shirts and books and pencil cases plastered with the school mascot.

“Hey!”

Arthur looks up from a meme about breadsticks as Ariadne finally arrives, dumping her bag on the floor. Less surprising is her utter lack of timeliness, and more is the guy standing beside her.

“Hey,” he greets her, but a swell of unease and anxiety rises as she grins. 

“Arthur, this is Dom. He’s in our philosophy class. I invited him to study with us.”

Arthur wouldn’t doubt that this Dom guy is in their class since there are about 300 people he doesn’t know in it. He’s more concerned with why Ariadne looks so excited as they take their seats at the table.

The guy, Dom, looks as uneasy as Arthur feels, but he smiles, or tries to. Arthur can’t help but take in his wrinkled khakis and slightly too-big polo shirt.

“You know, you have a lot in common,” Ariadne says as they open their books and Arthur sneaks another glance at Dom’s straw-colored hair, splayed messily like he forgot to comb it. At her words, his gaze snaps back to her.

He knows where this is going, and he doesn’t like it.

“Ari,” he says, before she can tell him what it is they have in common. “Come get coffee first.”

“Okay.” She grins at Dom, almost encouragingly, as Arthur heads for the line.

“What the hell?” he hisses, dragged her closer by the arm. “What are you doing?”

She widens her eyes, trying to look innocent, but she can’t fool Arthur. “Nothing.”

“Who is that?” Arthur asks, nodding at where Dom is fiddling with a pen and staring out the window.

“I told you. His name is Dom.”

“If you’re trying to set me up,” Arthur starts and Ariadne rolls her eyes.

“Well, duh!” she says, and even Arthur feels stupid. “We’ve been here for months and you’ve barely even looked at anyone.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I like it that way?” Arthur knows it hasn’t because it’s not the truth. It’s not like he _wants_ to be the weird antisocial kid who never goes out or has fun because this is college, and he’s supposed to do stupid things like getting drunk and giving a stranger a blow job for no other reason than that he wants to.

“You’re not asexual,” Ariadne points out. “And you shouldn’t be celibate when there are guys out there that you could date.”

The line shuffles forward, weaving between tables toward the door. Arthur resents the idea that he’s involuntarily celibate. He could find a guy if he wanted. He’s over eighteen now. He could get into clubs and find someone if he wanted. He just… Fuck, he doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

“Fine,” he says finally, a huff. “But I’m not going to go out with some guy you randomly picked out from a huge lecture hall. He’s wearing khakis for god’s sake.”

He probably deserves the eyeroll Ariadne gives him this time.

“I don’t think you have room to talk, sweater vest.”

Arthur glares at her and she relents.

“Okay, it wasn’t the best idea, but you and Dom _do_ have stuff in common.”

“Aside from a required gen-ed class?”

She frowns as they reach the counter finally and the girl behind the counter waits expectantly for their order, pen poised over a cup.

“He’s on tumblr,” Ariadne says, almost desperately.

“Ariadne.” Arthur shakes his head. If that is all they have in common, then he should date everyone he follows on tumblr, which isn’t very many people. He turns to the girl. “Decaf latte for my friend.”

Ariadne crosses her arms but doesn’t protest the decaf part. “Fine,” she admits. “But please at least be nice to him.”

“I’m always nice.”

She snorts in disbelief, but Arthur doesn’t have the energy to argue. Instead, he pays the girl and they step aside. Arthur glances back at Dom, who is watching them now. Dom waves a little and Arthur forces a smile. She could at least find someone cute, someone like Eames.

But people like Eames don’t exist in real life, Arthur reminds himself. People like Eames exist on the internet, in pornos, and in his fantasies. Maybe Ariadne is right. He’s too wrapped up in a fantasy that he can’t see the real thing. People in real life aren’t like Eames. They have flaws and wear things like wrinkled khakis. Arthur’s never going to get laid if he doesn’t stop comparing everyone to an internet fantasy.

“But I seriously do need to study for this thing,” Ariadne says as she gets her coffee and they head back to the table.

Unfortunately, so does Arthur.

*

The thing Arthur likes most about the library is that it’s quiet. That and Ariadne is not there, forcing him to meet some other random guy she’s just met. It’s five stories of books and tables hidden in alcoves, muffled silence, and that dusty comforting smell that penetrates every library he’s ever been in.

Midterms are more stressful than he expected, which is probably why Arthur is scrolling through tumblr on his phone as he sits at a table near the wall, facing the staircase. He’s been studying for a good hour, though. He deserves a break.

Fucking Ariadne, is all he thinks as he scrolls. It’s her fault he’s even on here. Tumblr is a complete waste of time.

He really does need to study.

Setting his phone aside, he grabs his book and pulls it closer. The biology of plant life isn’t exactly captivating, and he finds his mind wandering, his hand itching to grab his phone and check tumblr again, even though nothing is likely to have changed in the last two minutes.

There aren’t many people in the library, at least on his floor, but Arthur makes a point of trying to find deserted areas for studying. Too much noise is distracting.

This is why, when someone comes up the stairs, Arthur can’t help glancing up.

His stomach jolts, like the feeling when you miss a stair going down. The guy stepping onto the landing doesn’t even spare him a glance, heading for a table across the room where he dumps a messenger bag on the extra chair and flops, gracefully, beautifully, into the other.

It can’t be. Arthur is surely hallucinating as he stares, eyes traveling down the guy’s chest, his tight tee-shirt, up to his face, stubble on his cheeks, lips pink and full. It can’t be Eames.

That’s it, Arthur tells himself. He’s officially lost it. He’s so caught up in his ridiculous fantasy that he actually thinks he’s seeing Eames.

Tearing his gaze away, Arthur stares hard at his textbook. He needs to get a grip. It’s just someone that looks like Eames. And if he doesn’t stop staring, the guy’s going to think he’s insane.

He tries to convince himself for half a second before he grabs his phone. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t even be doing this, but he opens tumblr and pulls up the search bar, typing in Eames’ user name.

There it is, Eames’ page, filled with naked men, but Arthur scrolls without looking at the faces, looking for the tag. He finds it and it pulls up video after video. Arthur glances around quickly, putting his phone on mute and playing the first video he finds.

It’s Eames there, on the screen, the same Eames it always is with messy brown hair, a mouth that makes Arthur think of obscene things, washboard abs, and a cocky smile as he does whatever he does.

That’s Eames.

Arthur looks up, over his phone, across the room to the guy at the table. The guy has pulled out a several textbooks and a notebook. He’s scribbling something and doesn’t even notice Arthur watching him.

Arthur checks the screen again. Same hair, same mouth, same tattoos crawling down his arms, even the same shirt draped over a chair in the background… Holy shit.

It is him.

This can’t actually be happening. Eames can’t actually be here, in the same library, not thirty feet from Arthur, frowning at his notebook and crossing something out. Shit like this doesn’t happen in real life, and certainly not to Arthur.

Eames must sense something because he looks up, eyes falling on Arthur. Arthur’s chest seizes up and he jerks his gaze away, back to his phone that is still playing the video. Fumbling, he closes the app and sets the phone aside. His heart pounds like he’s been running. He can feel his pulse in his throat.

As he sits there, he doesn’t know what to do. It’s not as if he can just walk up to Eames and say, “Hey, I watch you fuck guys online. You wanna maybe do that to me?” No, he can’t do that. He doesn’t think he could even get the words out.

Arthur stares at his book, open to the same page it has been for the last twenty minutes. So much for studying. He can’t concentrate now, not with Eames, his internet fantasy, sitting right over there, just out of reach. He wouldn’t even know where to start.

“Excuse me.”

Arthur’s head snaps up, and all breath seems to leave his body as he finds himself looking into Eames’ beautiful blue-green eyes.

“My pen seems to have run out of ink.” Holy Jesus, he’s British. “Don’t suppose you have one I could borrow?”

Jesus Christ, what is wrong with him? Arthur has never felt like this with any other guy, that helpless feeling like he can’t remember how words work. He doesn’t like it.

“No,” he says finally, forcing the word out. “Sorry, I don’t carry extras.” He immediately cringes inwardly. Why would he say that? Right, because he doesn’t carry extras. He has one pen and he doesn’t lose it or lend it out.

“Ah, too bad,” Eames says, and he’s smiling, and Arthur is very glad he’s sitting down right now or he’s not sure his legs would be able to support him. “Guess I’ll have to ask someone else.” He takes a step back, and Arthur bites his lip at his own stupidity. Did he just somehow turn down Eames? Eames hesitates, though, before he turns away. “Next question, where’s the loo up here?”

Arthur’s mouth is hanging open slightly, but he closes it. No need to look like a complete idiot.

“There’s a bathroom over by the stairs,” he says, pointing vaguely behind Eames.

“Much obliged,” Eames says, smiling again, and Arthur’s chest contracts as Eames eyes dip down his chest, an obvious sweep that only an idiot would miss. Then again, no one has ever accused Arthur of being oblivious.

Eames leaves, and Arthur lets out a breath, watching him go, eyes on his backside, his glorious backside that Arthur has already seen on a grainy, dark phone screen.

The bathroom door swings shut behind Eames, and Arthur is out of his seat. Maybe he read it totally wrong, but he can’t pass up the chance to find out. He leaves his things on the table and heads for the bathroom, slipping inside and glancing around. Maybe he did read it wrong, he thinks, when he doesn’t see Eames.

“What took you so long?” A stall door swings open and Eames stands there, draped against the wall, lanky and beautiful, and way better than an internet fantasy.

Arthur doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything and stumbles forward, ungracefully, as Eames’s fingers curl into his sweater and yank him into the stall. The door shudders shut behind them, Eames’ free hand sliding in the flimsy lock while his other shoves Arthur up against the door.

Arthur isn’t exactly a virgin, but he also has never hooked up with someone in a public bathroom. He can feel his heart pounding as he stares at Eames, in excitement, anticipation. There’s no time to think before Eames’ mouth is pressed to his, tongue sliding into his mouth without asking for permission, without waiting. The kiss is hard but quick, just long enough to leave a slight burn on Arthur’s skin from Eames’ stubble, before Eames has dropped to the floor.

Arthur’s stomach bottoms out as Eames yanks open his jeans and shoves up his sweater vest, slides his hands up Arthur’s stomach. Arthur lets out a breath and closes his eyes for a second. He’s so hard already, just imagining what’s going to happen, unable to believe it really is. This isn’t a dream? He’s not going to wake up to Yusef playing Call of Duty at two AM?

He tears his eyes open and looks down. He’s not going to miss any of this.

Eames licks his lips, and Arthur could just come from that. Eames doesn’t speak, just like in the videos, but then again, he’s got his tongue on Arthur’s thigh, sucking a red mark into his skin while his hand pulls Arthur’s jeans down, bunched around his thighs.

It’s with a jolt that Arthur realizes he’s never seem Eames like this. It’s always Eames getting sucked off on the videos, always some other guy on his knees, the camera pointed down at him. Eames never…

Arthur can’t help the moan that escapes when Eames drags his mouth across Arthur’s skin, the scratch of his stubble way more of a turn on than it should be. He could swear Eames is amused by the quirk to his mouth as he leans in and licks, fucking _licks_ down the entire length of Arthur’s cock. 

Arthur squirms against the cold metal of the door, flexing his hands, reaching for Eames’ shoulder. Eames’ mouth, his _fucking mouth_ , is stretched around Arthur’s dick, pink and shiny, and god, Arthur just wants to fuck his mouth until Eames is choking on it. He doesn’t know what causes that thought, but the desire rises in him as Eames sucks hard, tongue flicking over the head, his hand working Arthur thoroughly until Arthur’s legs start to shake and he doesn’t think he can hold on.

“Christ,” he whispers as Eames fucking goes to town, sucking him off like he was born to do it. He looks amazing on his knees, Arthur thinks, pushing a hand into Eames’ hair. It’s soft, and he gets a groan in response, a low vibration around his cock that makes his toes curl as he sucks in a breath.

Arthur is too hot, too hot as he leans against the door, a flush crawling over his skin, tension knotting in his stomach as he stares down at Eames, who hasn’t stopped once, pulling away only to mouth along the underside of Arthur’s cock while Arthur gasps for air above him.

Oh fuck, he’s gonna come. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want this to ever end. His fingers dig into Eames’ shoulder and he grits his teeth against the building pressure in his body.

Eames doesn’t seem to get the message, moving faster, sucking until Arthur is a shuddering mess, or at least it feels like it, unable to control his own body as he comes. He comes in Eames’ mouth, everything hot and wet and sticky, and Eames licks his lips as he pulls away, a lazy smirk as he looks up at Arthur.

Jesus, Arthur is a mess. His shirt is pushed halfway up his stomach, wrinkled and mussed, the flush hot on his cheeks, and his head is swimming as Eames pushes himself up off the floor.

Eames grabs a fistful of toilet paper to clean up, tossing it in the toilet behind them. For once in his life, Arthur has nothing to say, no clever line rising up on his tongue.

“Well,” Eames says, swiping a thumb under his lower lip and looking completely satisfied. “I’m off to find a pen.” He unlocks the door behind Arthur before Arthur can get his bearings, and Arthur stumbles a bit, yanking his jeans back up. Luckily, the bathroom is still empty.

Arthur smooths down his shirt, fussing with the tails of his button down as Eames inspects his hair in the mirror. He should say something. What exactly, he doesn’t know. He’s never quite done that before.

Eames glances back at him in the mirror while Arthur stands there awkwardly, trying to figure out how to say that he knows who Eames is, that they should totally go back to his dorm and hook up for real.

In the end, Eames doesn’t say anything and neither does Arthur. The door swings shut behind Eames and Arthur buries his head in his hands. Idiot. Complete and utter idiot. Arthur supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, judging by Eames’ tumblr, he hooks up with plenty of people. Arthur probably won’t even count in the grand scheme of Eames’ life.

Annoyed with both himself and Eames, Arthur washes his hands and checks his clothes before leaving the bathroom. When he looks over, Eames’ table is empty. If it hadn’t just happened, Arthur might have thought he’d made it all up. 

Sinking into his chair, he checks the text on his phone from Ariadne.

_I know you didnt like Dom but maybe youll come w us to a party on sat?_

Apparently Ariadne is still trying to be friends with Dom, or rather, trying to get Arthur to be friends with Dom. Arthur isn’t in the mood to fight with her about it at the moment, so he texts a simple, “Okay” and leaves it at that. He has plenty of time before Saturday to get out of it.

He can’t help glancing at Eames’ empty table one more time before getting back to his books and finally turning the page.

*

Arthur hates Ariadne. He hates Eames. And, well, he hates himself a little too.

The Ask box on Eames page sits on his screen, cursor blinking ominously in the little white box. It’s been like that for the past five minutes, waiting for him to write something, to say something.

The problem is, Arthur doesn’t know what to say. Maybe he shouldn’t say anything. After all, he could be one of those people, one of those people who get blow jobs in bathrooms and never see the other person again. Jesus, even Arthur doesn’t believe that.

The cursor blinks again, like it’s taunting him.

Annoyed, Arthur snaps his laptop shut. He should just let it go. He should be grateful that he got to live out some sort of weird fantasy with a guy he never thought he’d meet in real life. He shouldn’t be focusing on someone he probably won’t see again. It was just a fluke of the universe. What would he have expected to happen anyway? 

Still, that doesn’t stop Arthur from opening his laptop again. He clicks away from the Ask box, back to Eames’ page. It’s filled with naked guys of all shapes and sizes, but Arthur’s not interested in any of them. Maybe he needs to find someone else, someone real, to hook up with.

There’s that party on Saturday that Ariadne is dragging him to. Maybe he’ll find someone there. _Not_ Dom, he tells himself firmly. Though he knows that’s exactly what Ariadne wants.

The lock jiggles at the door and Arthur shuts his laptop quickly as Yusef enters.

“Hey,” Yusef greets him, tossing his bag on the floor and kicking off his shoes. Yusef’s side of the room is always a complete mess, and Arthur’s not sure how he manages to find anything amidst the piles of clothes, shoes, and books that litter his side.

“Hey.” Arthur leans back in his chair, trying to pretend he wasn’t just looking at some guy’s cock. Yusef doesn’t need to know that.

“Thought you’d be out studying,” Yusef says, rummaging in a drawer for something.

“What do you mean?”

Arthur and Yusef don’t exactly know each other very well. They’ve only been roommates a few months, and Arthur hasn’t bothered to get to know him beyond his weed smoking habits and his class schedule.

“Nothing,” Yusef says, coming out with a possibly-clean shirt given the way he sniffs it. “Just you’re usually nose-deep in a textbook whenever I come in here.”

Arthur’s not going to feel bad about staying on top of his studies. He’s always been that way, and growing up with a single parent just meant he had to work harder to get more. What he takes offense to is the idea that he does nothing but study.

“I’m not always studying.”

“Thought you lived in the library for a while there,” Yusef jokes, laughing as he switches out his shirt. They both smell like weed so Arthur isn’t sure it’s much of an improvement. “Haven’t seen your friend, Ariadne, in a while. You should invite her over.”

Arthur knows why Yusef wants Ariadne to come over, and it isn’t to discuss the merits of medicinal marijuana.

“I think she’s busy,” he says instead of agreeing, and Yusef only shrugs.

“It’d at least prove you have friends, man.”

Arthur has friends, and he has friends other than Ariadne, but he doesn’t tell Yusef as much. Luckily, Yusef leaves a few minutes later, taking his unwanted observations with him.

For a moment, Arthur sits in his desk chair, listening to the muffled thud of music from next door. Just because he cares about doing well in school doesn’t mean he doesn’t do anything else. Jesus, maybe Ariadne really is right about going out. He hates to admit it, but she has a point, even if Dom is not his first choice. Maybe he’ll let her set him up, though he does at least get veto power.

*

“That wasn’t terrible,” Ariadne says as they leave the lecture hall, accompanied by 300 of their closest friends.

“We survived midterms at any rate,” Arthur agrees, though he still digs out his textbook to check an answer he could swear he got wrong.

“Which means,” she says, expression bright. “That we can totally celebrate this weekend. You’re still coming to the party, right?”

Arthur had meant to come up with an excuse, but after a week of tumblr-stalking Eames while Yusef’s words echoed in his head-- _It’d at least prove you have friends, man_ \--he figures maybe a party with strangers is just what he needed.

“Yes, I’m still coming,” he says, though with less enthusiasm than she probably hoped for. “Whose party is it anyway?”

“Dom knows some guys,” she says simply, as though they are such good friends with Dom already. “He’s a junior, you know.”

They cross the lawn between buildings, under the breaking of clouds, the sun attempting to make an appearance.

Arthur didn’t know Dom was a junior, and he doesn’t particularly care either.

“If you like him so much, maybe you should date him,” he points out, and Ariadne shakes her head.

“I don’t see what’s wrong with him. You just have impossibly high standards.”

“Just because two people are into guys doesn’t automatically mean they’re going to fall for each other,” he says, shoving his book away. It catches on the edge of his bag and he stops walking to finagle it in.

“I know that,” Ariadne says, rolling her eyes as Arthur rearranges his books so they don’t poke him painfully in the side. “But Dom is nice and smart and older, and he has his own apartment.”

“Is that supposed to be a come-on…” Arthur trails away as he looks up and he catches sight of--no, seriously, this is getting ridiculous.

Eames crosses the lawn, going in the opposite direction. Even from here, he looks gorgeous, a hand hooked around his book bag as he strides away. Arthur loses all train of thought as he watches Eames go, a ridiculous urge to go after him, to follow him and find out where he’s going, to prove he’s a real person and not some midterm-induced apparition.

“Arthur?” Ariadne frowns at him, looking concerned.

Arthur jerks his gaze back to Ariadne. That’s it. He really needs to get Eames out of his head.

“So what time is the party?” he asks, hiking his bag over his shoulder and heading for the Union.

Ariadne still looks suspicious, but she falls into step with him anyway. “I’ll just come by your dorm on Saturday.”

“Sounds good.” Anything sounds better than letting himself dwell on Eames anymore.

*

Arthur deliberately doesn’t wear a sweater over his button down, though he feels strangely exposed without the comforting tightness around his chest. He even lets Ariadne talk him into rolling up the sleeves to his elbows. Who knows, maybe it’ll help attract a guy who is not Dom.

The party is at some house off campus. It reminds Arthur of a frat house, and maybe it is for all he knows. He doesn’t bother to ask that question as Ariadne drags him into the kitchen and hands him a beer.

“I’m going to find Dom,” she shouts over the music rattling the empty bottles on the countertop.

Arthur follows her vaguely, out into the living room, scanning the room stuffed with people. There are a few cute guys, but none glance his way. Arthur isn’t surprised. He’s not exactly the thing of wet dreams.

Sipping his beer, he tries not to feel out of place, though he’d rather be back in his dorm right now, watching a French film or, hell, even scrolling through tumblr as lame as that sounds. He’s never going to forgive Ariadne for introducing him to it.

The room is dimly lit, a bass thudding in Arthur’s ears, people draped over the dirty-looking couches, leaning against walls, shouting over the music to be heard. At least no one is dancing.

“There you are.” Ariadne appears with Dom in tow, and he looks slightly less awkward than the last time Arthur saw him. He’s got a beer in his hand and his hair has been smoothed. He’s also gotten rid of the hideous khakis for a nice pair of chinos. Arthur’s closet is full of chinos, so that at least, he can approve of.

“Having fun?” Dom asks over the shudder of the music.

Arthur tips his beer instead of responding. The answer is ‘not really’ but Ariadne is standing right there, and they’ve only been here five minutes.

This is going to be an awkward night, Arthur decides as they stand there, alternately taking sips of their drinks and casting around for things to say.

“Dom is an architecture major too,” Ariadne says. “He designed the new memorial they’re putting up in front of the student union.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it,” Arthur agrees. “That’s pretty cool.”

Dom smiles in response and opens his mouth, but he’s cut off by someone barreling into his shoulder and shouting in his ear over the noise.

“Have you seen Saito? He’s supposed to be here tonight. He owes me some money.”

Arthur stares as Eames lets go of Dom’s shoulder, shaking his head at the look Dom shoots him. It’s only then that Eames seems to notice the rest of them. His eyes flick from Ariadne to Arthur. He barely reacts to Arthur except for a small quirk to his eyebrows.

Dom sighs, like this happens all the time. 

“Ariadne, Arthur, this is Eames, my roommate.”

Roommate. The word echoes in Arthur’s head but he’s paying more attention to the way Eames grins at Ariadne.

“Pleasure,” he says, then turns to Arthur. “Nice shirt.”

Arthur doesn’t know what that means.

“I haven’t seen Saito,” Dom says instead of waiting for Arthur to formulate a response, not that Arthur had one. For some reason, when faced with Eames, he loses all sense of words and rational thought. He doesn’t like it at all. “And don’t you mean you owe him money?”

“Semantics.” Eames waves him away.

Arthur is too focused on the surrealness of the situation to pay attention to what Dom says next. Eames is real, realer than a blow job in a bathroom or videos on a computer screen, and he’s standing right in front of him discussing semantics, completely ignoring, or perhaps forgetting, that they know each other.

“I’m going to get another drink,” Arthur says abruptly, even though his bottle is still half-full, but he can’t stand standing there with Eames and Dom and Ariadne when this is all so ridiculous.

In the kitchen, he doesn’t go to the fridge but leans against the counter and pulls out his phone. He’ll give it a few minutes for Eames to leave, to find Saito or whoever it was he was looking for. Arthur doesn’t know how he gets himself into these situations, but one thing is clear: he needs to stop stalking Eames on tumblr.

He’s scrolling through tumblr when he feels warm breath on his ear, and Eames’ voice in his ear.

“Arthur,” he says, and god, it sounds so good with his accent. Better than Arthur has been imagining for the past week. “That’s a nice name.”

Arthur closes the app and lifts his head slightly. He can see Eames out of the corner of his eye, feel the warmth of his body as he hovers close to him.

“Did you find your friend?” he asks, and he’s proud of the steadiness in his voice.

“Found something better,” Eames says, and Arthur can practically feel the burn of his gaze as they stand there, too close even though there’s plenty of space in the kitchen.

“Ariadne’s trying to set me up with Dom,” he says because he can’t say that all he wants right now is Eames to take him somewhere and fuck the living daylights out of him. He has more self-control than that. And a little more dignity.

“Figured as much,” Eames says, though he says it casually as though he doesn’t care that Arthur is supposed to be there for someone else. Arthur resolutely doesn’t jump when Eames’ fingers slide to the back of his neck and he leans in close so that Arthur can feel the breath against his neck. “My flat’s only a few blocks away.”

Arthur won’t deny that he’s imagined this, Eames’ hands on him, the heavy whisper in his ear, heat rising on his skin. He can’t give in to this so easily, though. He won’t be that subservient freshman taken in by someone as hot as Eames.

“What makes you think I’d go with you?” he manages to ask, twisting in Eames’ grip. Eames lets him go, and Arthur almost wishes he wouldn’t.

Eames pauses, chewing on his lower lip as Arthur tries not to stare. “I could give you a well-reasoned answer,” he says evenly. “Even cite a few examples--” He cuts himself off, and Arthur curses to himself. He can’t help the way everything seems to heat up at Eames’ words, the way he leans into him. Eames seems to smile to himself, a quirk of understanding as he leans in closer again. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Everything laid out nice and logically. An answer to every question.”

“Jesus,” Arthur mutters because he is ridiculous, and transparent, apparently.

“I think you’re going to come with me anyway,” Eames says, and Arthur closes his eyes as Eames’ stubble scrapes against his jaw, the ghost of his lips against Arthur’s cheek.

Shit, he’s right. Arthur wants to fight it, to not give in to his stupid hormones, to Eames’ obvious banter, but who’s he kidding? He’s been imagining this for months, ever since he stumbled onto Eames’ tumblr.

“Fine,” he says because what else would he say when faced with the prospect of getting something he wants?

The warmth of Eames’ body is gone as he answers, and he opens his eyes to see Eames leaving the kitchen. Arthur takes half a second to gather his wits before he follows Eames out.

*

It’s like walking into a dream, a gritty, dark dream that was never quite clear until now. Eames’ room is small, taken up mostly by a bed and a desk piled high with books. Arthur can’t help scanning the room for familiarities, like the chair in the corner, the dark blue sheets on the bed, the dim lamp on the desk.

His stomach jumps as he catches sight of a tripod set up in the corner, a small handheld camera sitting on the desk, turned off, facing the wall. He wonders if Eames will want to tape this, if he’ll ask, what Arthur would say.

Eames doesn’t mention the camera as he shuts the door behind them and strips off his shirt with no pretense. He crowds Arthur up against the bed, reaching for the buttons on his shirt without asking.

Arthur takes the opportunity to get his hands on Eames, smoothing down his waist, to the zipper on his pants, tugging it down. It all feels vaguely surreal, like it shouldn’t be happening.

Eames’ mouth on his temporarily distracts him. Eames’ tongue slides into his mouth, licking and sucking, biting down on his lower lip to draw out a surprised gasp. Eames has almost all the buttons open on Arthur’s shirt before he yanks it off, sending the last few across the room.

Arthur doesn’t care about the shirt. He cares about Eames’ hands sliding down his sides, warm and a little calloused, pulling him in closer so that Arthur can feel Eames’ erection through his pants.

“Oh,” Arthur says, out of surprise, desire. His mouth is sore, red, and he’s already panting for breath when Eames shoves him back, onto the bed. Arthur doesn’t think about all the guys that have been in his position before.

Eames sheds his pants with surprising speed and climbs over Arthur, kissing him thoroughly. Arthur’s fingers find their way to Eames’ hair, gripping tightly as Eames drags their hips together. Arthur can’t help the moan he lets out at the glorious feeling of friction between them. He wants more. He _needs_ more.

“Eames,” he breathes between kisses, shoving at his jeans with his hands, kicking them off until they fall off the edge of the bed. Eames’ hands immediately reach for his hips, pulling them up, skin to skin, and Arthur groans.

Arthur reaches for Eames, but Eames is faster, pinning his hands above his head. _Fuck_.

Arthur could get off just like this, with Eames thrusting against him, a rush of heat and friction between them, unable to move more than a wiggle. His mind flashes to handcuffs, being held down, giving up control. It should scare him, but it doesn’t. It just makes him harder.

When Eames lets go, his mouth gliding down Arthur’s stomach, Arthur curses.

“No, don’t,” he manages, unashamed at the way Eames glances up at him, almost questioning, almost knowing.

“Don’t what?” Eames asks, sliding his tongue along Arthur’s hip bone, leaving the bruise of his mouth on Arthur’s thigh.

Arthur bites his lip. He’s already gone this far, what’s a little more.

“Don’t let go,” he pants as Eames moves back up, his hand brushing against Arthur’s cock, too lightly, and Arthur jerks at the touch.

Eames quirks an eyebrow, devious. He brushes his free hand through Arthur’s hair, fingernails trailing down his neck.

“You like it?” he asks, leaning in, pressing a kiss under Arthur’s ear. “Being held down?”

“Yes,” Arthur breathes, arching into Eames. Normally, he wouldn’t admit it, but he wants Eames to do it. He wants Eames to pin him down and fuck him.

“You’re kinkier than I thought,” Eames muses, but his tongue is still sliding down Arthur’s neck, to his shoulder where he sucks a red mark. “For someone who wears sweater vests.”

Arthur isn’t sure if that’s an insult or not, but he doesn’t fucking care if Eames will stop talking and fuck him already.

Arthur grabs Eames this time, pulling him up to his mouth and kissing him hard. “Just fuck me,” he says, hooking a leg around Eames and yanking him against him.

“Say please,” Eames replies, but Arthur can feel his erection. It’s different than seeing it on a screen. It’s better, bigger, hot against Arthur’s.

“Jesus, I hate you,” Arthur says before he thinks, and Eames smirks.

“You don’t even know me.” But he moves, grabbing for a condom from a box tossed haphazardly on the floor.

Arthur has another comeback ready, but he doesn’t get to say it as Eames returns and flips him onto his stomach, a strong hand pressing into his neck, gripping his skin, as Arthur gasps and tries to get his bearings, but everything is too hot, too fast.

“You want it like this,” Eames says from behind him, and Arthur hears the crinkle of the condom wrapper, the pop of a lube container.

He swallows hard and doesn’t reply except to nod. This is really happening. In the room Arthur has seen on camera for a month, with the guy he only imagined to be real.

He closes his eyes at the first slide of Eames’ fingers inside him, slick and hot. He imagines the video, what he might look like on it instead of that guy. Would Eames shove him aside so only he was visible to the lens? Would he let himself be filmed like that?

Eames’ hand on Arthur’s neck is tight, but not too tight, keeping him pressed to the mattress beneath him. Arthur curls his fists and takes a deep breath. He can’t come too fast. He wants this to last.

Eames drags his hips up, back, a sharp jerk, and Arthur feels Eames cock pressing against him, thick and flushed. He lets out a stuttered breath as Eames pushes inside, closing his eyes against the pressure inside him, the blood rushing to his prick, trapped beneath him. He can’t reach for it, not when Eames grabs his hands and links them behind his back.

“Wouldn’t want you getting any ideas, Arthur,” Eames whispers when he’s all the way inside and he leans forward to bite down on Arthur’s shoulder.

It’s not a completely comfortable position, his arms twisted to his back, Eames’ hand binding his wrists, but Arthur doesn’t fight it. He wants it like this, with Eames inside him, his cheek pressed to a lumpy pillow as he breathes in Eames’ scent.

Eames starts out slow, too slow, rocking into Arthur until Arthur groans and tries to speed him up, pushing his hips back. The heat is too slow, making him a little crazy.

“Patience, Darling,” Eames murmurs, but he does speed up, enough that Arthur bites his lip and muffles a noise in the pillow. 

It’s nothing like the videos and yet somehow still the same. Except this time it’s Arthur underneath Eames, breathing his name, straining against his grip even though he doesn’t want Eames to let go, cursing as pleasure steals over his body, his cock weeping, not enough friction from the sheets beneath him.

“Almost there,” Eames breathes, and Arthur thinks this is the most he’s ever talked during sex. Of course the fact that he knows that is weird enough. “Fuck, yeah.”

He sounds completely relaxed, like the grip on Arthur’s wrists isn’t tightening with every thrust, like his hips don’t stutter into Arthur. Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, unable to come, unable to touch himself. God, he wants to. He wants a hand on his prick, a mouth, anything.

Eames moans when he comes, soft but long, and he doesn’t let go of Arthur’s hands, not until Arthur tugs at them, desperate to touch himself.

Arthur’s unbearably hard when Eames pulls out and lets him roll over. Even though Eames looks debauched, hair damp with sweat, a flush over his shoulders, he shoves Arthur’s hand away from his cock.

“Allow me,” he says before going down on him without so much as a breath.

Arthur can’t hold on, not after that, not with Eames’ mouth around him again, sucking him off, so enthusiastic that Arthur merely gasps and comes without warning. He doesn’t even feel embarrassed coming so quickly with Eames’ mouth around him. Instead, he closes his eyes as he tries to catch his breath, feeling the bed dip with Eames’ weight as Eames flops on his back beside him.

“That’s the second time,” Arthur says as he lies there, before he can quite get his thoughts in order. He opens his eyes to watch the shapes the lamp makes on the ceiling.

“Hmm?” Eames asks, slow, lazy. All Arthur can think is that he’s never seen this part, afterward. The videos always cut off well before any of this.

That’s what makes it real, weirdly real, and Arthur sits up, glancing down at Eames beside him. Eames raises an eyebrow but says nothing. Instead, he smiles, a twitch to his nose that twists Arthur’s stomach.

“Would you prefer we turn on the camera?” Eames asks and Arthur freezes as he reaches for his pants on the floor.

“What?” he asks, though he heard perfectly clearly.

He feels Eames shift, sitting up, his hand massaging the back of Arthur’s neck as he leans into his shoulder. 

“I saw you on tumblr earlier. And I know I’m hot but most guys don’t just willingly follow me into the loo without a little prodding.”

Eames is smarter than Arthur gave him credit for. Arthur pulls away from his grip, yanking his jeans on and trying to figure a way out of there without looking like a complete spaz.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says sharply, looking around for his shirt. His heart is beating faster than it was a minute ago when Eames was inside him.

On the bed, Eames’ smile widens as he watches Arthur search in vain. “I think you do.”

Huffing, Arthur stops looking for his shirt. There’s no decent way out of this. Eames knows.

“So?” he asks finally, spotting his shirt slumped down behind the chair. “So I’ve seen your tumblr. Am I supposed to be embarrassed?”

Eames clambers off the bed as Arthur grabs his shirt and pulls it on, frowning at the couple missing buttons. He’ll never get those back.

“Fuck no,” Eames says, and Arthur looks up, frowning. “I think it’s hot. You watching me. Wanting me.”

Arthur scoffs despite knot curling in his stomach. “Of course you do. You’re an exhibitionist.”

Eames’ eyebrows go up. “You think you know who I am?” he asks, and his hands come up to bracket Arthur’s jaw. Arthur’s fingers still on his buttons. “Because of a few videos on the internet?”

“No,” Arthur says dismissively and keeps going on the buttons. He needs to get out of there before he does something stupid. “But you obviously like being filmed. You like people watching you get off.”

“You like watching me.”

Arthur doesn’t have a response for that. This fantasy is over. Now he can stop going to Eames’ page. He gets his buttons closed, at least the ones still left on the shirt. Eames’ hands are still on his shoulders, and Arthur has to meet his eyes.

“I should go,” he says.

“Alright,” Eames agrees, though it’s reluctant. Arthur won’t allow himself to hope there’s something else here. Eames is thoroughly cocky and has already figured out how to push Arthur’s buttons. “But next time, I’m introducing you to the camera.”

“Next time?” Arthur repeats, skeptical, and he hates that his heart beats faster when Eames grins at him.

“You don’t think I’d let a kinky little fucker like you get away so easily? I want to know how many sweater vests you have.”

“I am not--” Arthur starts, but Eames cuts him off with a searching kiss that leaves him panting for air when they part. Dazed, he shakes his head. “You’re an ass.”

“I’ve also been reliably informed by my fans that I have a great one.” He presses another kiss to Arthur’s lips and smacks his ass. “Now, get back to the party. Your friend will be missing you.”

Arthur wants to argue, though he’s not sure about what. In the end, he puts his shoes back on and smooths his hopelessly wrinkled shirt. Eames flops back on the bed and pulls his phone from the floor.

“I’m gonna stalk you on tumblr,” Eames says as Arthur reaches for the door.

Arthur pauses, but in the end, he smiles to himself and leaves. It’s only fair, after all.

*

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading Inception fic since 2010 but this is my first time actually bothering to write any. I don't have any explanation for this. But. Well. [Find me on tumblr.](http://believenthlie.tumblr.com/)


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